Fare Well
by The Die Hard
Summary: Martha says goodbye. There are many kinds of courage.


Farewell

Standard disclaimer. If the owners of all this stuff were actually reading any of this stuff, the episodes would be a lot better.

Futurefic, but not a spoiler. Pretty much canon.

There are many different kinds of courage.

The funeral had not taken long, Martha thought. An eternity or two. Not long enough. Clark hadn't been able to make it.

She had shrugged off her friends' murmured sympathies. There weren't many real friends left, anyway. The ones she didn't know well enough to call friends were easier to be gracious to, gracious and polite and distant.

One jackass had had the unmitigated gall to say something quietly snide about Clark's absence. Martha had given him a freezing look and walked away with a stiffness that permitted no attempt at apology. _My family's private life is none of your business_, said that icy set of her shoulders.

She had, after all, had a lot of practice at deflecting curiosity over the years, she and Jonathan.

It was nobody's business that Clark was in Japan right now, trying to prevent a whole hell of a lot of other people from having to go to funerals, after the earthquake.

It was nobody's business that Superman was keeping focused and dry-eyed at having to miss his own father's funeral only because he knew that same father would never have forgiven him for doing otherwise when there was work to be done.

_Funerals are for the living, son._

_So is saving the world._

The graveside after the service was nearly empty, and very quiet. The few who felt privileged to intrude on her here simply touched the gravestone, left their mementos, and went on their own way. Good people, those. People who understood.

Martha's father stood back a respectful distance while she traced the gravestone, committing all of Jonathan's long and hard and wondrous life to a few lines and words. Not even unique words. Beloved. Husband, father. _He held all others more dear._

No one to ever know, to ever guess, what the world owed to this man, this humble human tiller of the land, who had raised an alien to be the Earth's greatest hero. Maybe, someday, the rest of the world would know, and see, and marvel.

Or maybe the secret would die with them, that humanity's shining icon of all that was great and good and superhuman owed his values and his upbringing -- and his life -- to the simple human man of the earth, laid to rest beneath this unremarkable stone.

Martha blinked to clear tears. She wasn't crying, not really. She had cried all there was to give during his last hours, holding onto him, begging him silently not to leave her, knowing that he had no choice. Knowing how selfish she was being, when he was ready and long past ready to go on.

The sacrifices he'd made to protect and safeguard his son had taken their toll far beyond his years. He'd known they would. And he'd told her, told both of them, firmly and with that unquestionable open honesty so often publicly attributed to the famous symbol of truth and justice, that he regretted nothing, would not have changed anything.

Clark had been very quiet, almost pale. He carried so much of a burden already. He always had. The price of his gifts: to feel guilty for anything he failed to do.

And Jonathan had chided him for that, with very nearly his dying breaths.

_Life and death is the way of the world, son. Even you can't change that._

_I had a good life. I had love. I had you._

_No one could ask for more._

Jonathan was never one to have used a word like "legacy," but the truth was there in the man who stood with him, and did not need to be spoken of further.

It was almost a blessing, no, it WAS a blessing, when Clark had been called away, and she and Jonathan had finished the journey as they'd begun it, together.

"Marty?" Her dad's voice, very soft, trying for strength. Not quite succeeding. Martha blinked again. Her dad's frailness was all too obvious. Unless she were lucky enough to get hit by a truck or something, she would be attending another family funeral in the not too distant future.

She sighed. "Yes, dad. Let's go home. We still have -- things to do, I guess."

Paperwork. Details. All the ... government-approved ... ways to end a life.

"Actually, not as much as you might think." She couldn't tell whether he was trying to lighten her mood or was honestly bemused. "I was going to have my old firm do it for you, you know. But when I checked, all the payments had already been made and the forms filed. You don't even have to go to the bank."

"What? How...?"

"I'm not even sure you want to know. But you'll see the return address on your monthly check, unless he's even more devious than I thought. Lex Luthor."

Martha let out a breath. After all this time.... Lex. He'd never been able to bring himself to actually face them again, not after the bitterness between him and Clark. But he apparently hadn't ever stopped wanting to.

Martha resolved to call him, or at least write. She'd never believed half the bad things she'd heard about Lex, not even from Clark. She still held out hope for the boy he'd been, the boy she had often thought of as her second adopted son, and the man he could have become, if only she -- if only all of them -- had tried harder to hold out a little more of what he so obviously needed.

"I wish Jonathan had been able to say good-bye to him...."

Her father laughed softly. "You always did have a spot in your heart for strays, Marty."

If only you knew. Martha smiled tremulously in return. No, dad would be one of those who never knew just how much of a stray she and Jonathan had taken in, that long ago day when a child from space fell to Earth.

"Somebody has to take them in," she answered, as if that explained it all. And maybe it did. If not us, who?

Who would have dared mold Kal-El into Clark, if not for Jonathan and herself?

Her father put an arm around her shoulder. "Come on. We at least have to put all that food in the refrigerator."

Martha glanced back at the double gravestone one last time -- one filled, one waiting to be. "Yes. I was just hoping...."

"Mom?"

And Clark was just_ there, _no sound, not even the sharp breeze she'd learned to listen for. He was getting better and better at this.

His size and musculature disguised by the cheap rumpled loose suit, his chiseled features distracted from by oversized glasses, his stern inhuman presence submerged beneath the tentative shoulder-hunched demeanor of a farmboy making his way in the big bad world.

The depth of pain and sadness in his eyes, though, would have been a clear giveaway to anyone who knew to look for it -- even at his father's funeral, no ordinary man would have been carrying such a burden. No ordinary man had seen, and done, and tried -- and all too often for his own personal desire, failed at -- the things that Superman had had thrust upon him, and had willingly taken on, every single day.

"Clark." Martha hugged her tall son tightly, knowing that even though he couldn't feel the physical pressure, he could feel the intent. "Baby. I'm glad you could make it. I know you have -- a lot to do."

"Yeah." The aw-shucks voice, barely masking the tiredness that could mean a hundred other things when you realized who was saying it. "I'm sorry I -- wasn't here earlier." He'd thought there would be enough of a slacking up in the rescuing, at this point, for him to take a few more minutes' break, but the temple where so many had taken refuge had finally given way under the extra weight of desperate humanity huddled inside it, and even Superman could not stop a mudslide with his bare hands.

"You did what you could." Reassurance, as firm as she could make it. "You always do."

"I'm sorry." Almost voiceless. Not all his gifts could make up for the things he couldn't do, feeling still that he ought to, because no one else could.

His eyes shifted up, meeting the old man's steady regard. "Hello, Mr. Clark. Thank you for being here. I'm really sorry I didn't make it in time."

To both of their surprise, old man Clark waved it off. "I understand, son. You have ... obligations. I think -- I'm pretty sure Jonathan would have understood, too."

Well, _that_ was unexpected. Martha wasn't sure the Kent versus Clark family feud would have ever been buried, even at graveside.

Clark looked back at him for a long moment, then gave a small nod. "Mom," his voice dropped, pitched for only her ears, "I really can't stay long. It's pretty bad over there. But if there's anything you need -- "

"I'm okay, Clark." She hugged him again. "There are plenty of people here to take care of me. We'll have enough time to talk later, when you're -- when you can get free for a little longer."

Superman smiled tiredly behind Clark's plug-ugly glasses. "Sometimes I wonder.... But I should be home later tonight. The military can really throw some resources into rescue work, once they put their minds to it. The carrier group captain has already threatened to order me to take some stand-down time once they get there. Said even Superman didn't get to exempt himself from time-on-duty regulations."

Martha managed a small laugh. "I'll bake him a pie or something. Just take care of yourself, honey. I can't help but worry about you."

"Unless Lex shows up with a kryptonite phaser cannon, the worst I'm going to face is some old guy with a sword defending his family heirlooms. Save your worry for -- " his eyes flicked up again, involuntarily, and he forced himself not to make any give-away sounds at the sight of how frail her father was. "For driving in traffic."

"I will, love." And we are seriously going to have to talk about the resignation in your voice when you mention Lex. Whatever went wrong between the two of you, I can't help but believe there's some way to lay it to rest. Before ... before one of you has to lay the other to rest permanently, without even having the chance to speak the words that the other needs to hear.

Like my dad and Jonathan never managed to do. "Dad, could you go get the car? Clark has to run -- I just want to say goodbye."

"Of course, Marty." The old man met Clark's eyes again, steady, appraising, then he tilted his head. "Take care, son."

As soon as he was out of sight over the small hill, Clark took off his glasses. His eyes were bright with unshed tears, but Superman didn't have time to cry. He looked over at the gravestones, but only for a few seconds, then shook his head fiercely. "I'll -- I'll see you later, mom." And voicelessly, but a salute to the small grave given with the honor that no one else on Earth had the power to invoke: "Good-bye, dad."

Then he was gone, in a blur that changed from pinstripe gray to red and blue in less than the space of a blink.

Martha looked up at the sky for a few seconds, but she had known for years now that mere human eyes could not track her son when he moved at what was, to him, just hurrying.

Her father's tap on the horn brought her around. She lowered her head and walked to the car, working to put her own thoughts back into some kind of normal day-to-day flow. To cope. Accept, and go on.

Her father watched her tiredly, a little wistfully, but his eyes kept straying to the sky.

He had been kind of hoping to catch a glimpse of the man of steel for himself. Never actually seen him in person. In the suit, anyway. Stupid, as many times as he'd seen Clark. It's just not the same when he's all huddled up in his disguise.

I will never understand how you and that man of yours managed it, Marty. He seems so, well, human. Do you still think of him as your little boy when you watch things like that terrible mess in Japan? Foolish question from a foolish old man. Of course you do, just like I still see you in pigtails.

I wish I could ever have brought myself to tell Jonathan just how much I appreciated him for what he'd managed to do. And how much I envied him.

Martha closed the car door and straightened herself in the seat, bracing herself for all the long, endless, minutes and hours and days to come. An end would be a relief. But she couldn't indulge herself in that. Her time would come. Until then, there were still others depending on her.

Her father smiled tiredly at her, and suddenly Martha saw him reflected in Superman as well. Three generations, she thought. Even though dad never really knew Clark, and if Clark is anyone's son he's Jonathan's, but whatever strong and good of dad there is in me, it's there in Clark too.

Her father touched her chin, raising it lightly. "He'll be all right, daughter mine. And wherever Jonathan is watching from, I know he'd be proud."

Martha managed a smile, small but genuine. Speak no ill of the dead. "It's good to hear some things can finally be let go of."

"Maybe I'm feeling my own mortality, child. I'm beginning to understand how much of a waste it is, to hold onto old hurts, to not speak first when you should have, to let opportunities so often slip by, out of something as foolish as wounded pride."

He looked up at the sky again. "I know you can hear me son, if you want to. If you need to. I just have to tell you -- I'm proud of you too. Fare well."


End file.
